The Beaches of Lambs

Written for the Grim Blunt Contest

Coming back to her home town was a questionable feat but something Florence knew she had to do. Tying up lose ends from a devastating loss brought her back to place she ran from for a long time. The sad thing was that she had no idea why. Her family used this beach house for so many years and it was her happy place-until her parents split up and they left. Florence knew she wasn't to blame but something about that time in her life horrified her.

Driving up to the coast she could feel the tightness around her throat, leaving her to caress her neck to take away any ill feelings of being choked.

Okay get it together! This will be quick and really there is nothing here that can hurt you. A silly dream that will pass as it always does.

The back door unlocked releasing the odor of dust and stale air. Florence recognized every detail, right down to the dishes that were left behind that last day they stood in the kitchen. Through the kitchen there was little light as all the shutters were locked up. Slivers of rays bounced off the dusty walls. Florence slid her hands against the hallway feeling her way to the living room, glancing at pictures of her family on the wall. It was hard to imagine that the house was being sold. So many memories. Good memories except that one feeling that grabbed her. The sweat beaded down her face as if she were in a sauna. Her heart pounded almost to the point of blacking out, the same feeling that kept her awake most nights; for years now and she just couldn't connect it.

Florence dropped to her knees trying to gather herself together. She had to get upstairs to her father's office and retrieve the papers of ownership. Now wishing there were someone else to do this job, she held tight to the banister lifting herself up, her knees shaking with every stair. It was even more eery knowing she was alone with nobody to save her if something were to happen.

Opening the office door she began to relax as the glass garden doors brought in the filtered sun off the beach. Florence opened the doors and inhaled the fresh salt air just before the door slammed shut on their own. Falling backward into the chair at the desk, Florence stared in front of her and couldn't believe what she saw. A girl she knew when she was younger. Pale, gaunt, with her throat slit. Her eyes were screaming.

Florence drew her knees up to her chest.”Go away, go away!”

A mere whisper cut through the dense air. “You left me. You left me to die.”

Shaking her head, “No, no, no, no! You aren't real! This is a dream, an episode! Just stop!”

Cold wind twirled around Florence that left a chill right to the bone. She couldn't move or even look. Then is was gone- just like that. Trying to regain her strength, she opened the drawer to the desk and found a newspaper clipping.

Tragic murder of Claire Murphy. Strangled by the hands of an unknown suspect. Her throat cut and left to die. Found in the basement of the Randall residence on the coast.

Here! She was murdered here! How could I have known? Things are flooding back and she remembers her parents arguing. We have to leave! We don't know if he did it or not! I won't let him go to jail, he isn't well!”

“Stop it! He needs help. You know this isn't right!”

This is what led to the divorce and now Florence knows that it was her brother. Blake was sent away and she very rarely heard her parents speak of him. Now she remembers the premonition she had just before it happened. She knew before hand that Clair would die. That day down on the beach...

Florence began to see spots in her sight, lingering causing her to become dizzy. Her head was full of vicious thoughts of Blake. He was mean as a child and taunted her from the time she could remember. It was as though he were jealous from the minute she was born.

Claire's family stayed just down the beach which made it great for Florence to have someone to play with rather than her brother alone. Even as young as Florence was she always felt that Blake had an evil side. It was that day when she felt an awful feeling of Blake hurting Claire just to be sure Flo would be alone again. Blake envied her happiness and carefree spirit.

Yet Florence felt responsible and Claire has come back for her. While she was in a daze with her head on the desk there was a weeping coming from the upper deck. It wasn't Claire's voice, it was a male voice. Still not herself, Florence went out to the deck and even through the wind she could hear the cries. With the night air cooling off; her skin began to have goose bumps, yet her face was trickling with sweat. She felt as though she were being pulled by something, or someone.

“Come play with me Flo. Please come play with me.”

“Blake?” Florence turned around and around looking for her brother. Her eyes trying to peel through the darkness that now covered the sandy shores. After all these years how could he still haunt her?

“Over here Flo. Look down, I'm making a sand castle.”

Florence couldn't help but look. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for. It was so dark and there was no way she could have known there was a break in the railing.

The News Papers read,
Another murder on the beaches of Lambs. Exactly twenty years to the day of the murder of Claire Murphy. Suicide has been ruled out for Florence Max. Her body was thrown from the highest deck of the beach house. Questions arise as to the where a bouts of Blake Max who hasn't been seen in eighteen years.


1020 word count